Strength and Honour
by Dawn Stag
Summary: As the time draws nearer Tristan is prepared for his service to Rome.


Quite simply, I own nothing.

This is not much more than a simple writing exercise and random moment of creativity that sprung upon me. I wasn't really planning on doing anything with it but I thought I'd share it anyway for those who might be in need of something to read. Its not brilliant but I like to think its not too rubbish either, however feedback in any form would be very much appreciated not that I really expect much for it. It does actually allude to a pre-movie story I've been writing since which looks at the life of Tristan's parents after his father's service as a knight ends (its more exciting than it sounds lol), but I don't think you need to read that to understand this. If I'm wrong, please let me know and I'll explain anything that is confusing.

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**Strength and Honour**

By DawnStag

_The Sarmatian Steppes, 452 AD_

"Good Tristan, do it again."

Even in the deep gruffness of his father's voice that was meant to neutralise and disguise any emotion spoken by the older Sarmatian, Tristan could hear the hidden praise and pride that his father felt at his son's excellence with a sword. Not that it wasn't expected, not only was Tristan of warrior blood and with an ancestry that had created and boasted shamans and monarchs; his father was a legendary knight, one of the few to return to his homeland – to Rome he had been but a dispensable slave, but to his own people a war hero whose tale would be passed down generations by bards and storytellers moving within the various tribes of Sarmatia.

Of course that didn't mean he didn't work Tristan to the bone.

Wiping at the sweat building on his forehead and causing his long shaggy hair to turn ratty and obstruct his vision, Tristan flexed his grip on the sword in his hand, cramp working its way into the tired muscles. Without complaint he moved forward into the attack, his father blocking it quickly just as he did every blow after. Well every one right up until the last.

Tristan had always been very observant, even as a child, which would have been far more helpful if his father, Anguysh, was not so unpredictable with his manoeuvres. But Tristan managed to find himself an opportunity and opening he had not expected. He blocked Anguysh's downward swing, dodging to the side and pushing his father's sword away from him to his left, thusly pushing his balance away from his son who managed to pull a foot out from beneath his father, sending the older man crashing to the ground. The tip of Tristan's blade was at Anguysh's throat before he even had time to process what Tristan had done.

Two sets of golden brown eyes stared at each other, one with amazement and the other with just a guarded anticipation. Even after Tristan had beaten the best warrior in the tribe in a fair sparring match he was still waiting for surprise attacks; especially coming from the man at the edge of his sword known for always winning.

A smile broke through Anguysh's stoic features, followed by a bark of laughter.

"Good lad, we'll make a Nart King out of you yet!"

Tristan removed the sword from his father's neck and helped him up, sliding the blade back into its sheath.

"Are we done for the day? I was hoping to go hunting with Dinadan." Tristan asked looking beyond his father to the temporary village set up in the valley below them.

"Perhaps another time. Come Tristan, there are important things we must do and discuss."

Tristan scowled but followed his father down to the yurt they shared at the edge of the village. His eyes darted between the sweaty tunic clad back of his father and the youngsters cavorting around in the shallows of the nearby river wishing that for once he could join in and make merry with the others instead of training with his father all of the time; perhaps that way he'd be able to make more friends and be seen less as the strange, quiet boy who spent all his time with a weapon in his hand. And maybe, just maybe Isolde would look at him with that beautiful smile she gave the other young men.

Just before Anguysh entered the darkly lit hut he stopped and looked up to the cloudless skies, stopping Tristan with a hand to the chest and gesturing for him to look also.

High in the blue sky, a distant bird circled, the echo of its cry reaching the ears of the father and son on the earth below.

"When I was in service Tristan, the scout, a Briton by the name of Ocvran had a hawk just like that. It followed him everywhere like an obedient dog, not always in sight but always in hearing distance. He could whistle to the bird and it would come immediately nonplussed and ready for whatever Ocvran had to ask of it. Many of us were wary of it at first, but I was intrigued, I wanted to know how he had trained it so I could acquire one myself. One day I asked him, he was older than us by ten years or so and a peculiar fellow, silent and distant, never really spending any time with the rest of us outside of the training grounds and it was rare to hear him speak more than a few words at a time. I wasn't expecting much of an answer, perhaps a mysterious smirk or tap of his nose; so when he spoke to me, words serious and flowing freely like we had never heard before I found myself unable to speak from shock but at the same time I began to understand why it was he and the bird were never very far from the other.

You see Tristan, it wasn't about him giving the bird orders or it being obedient, it was about kinship. Just like Ocvran had lost his wife to the Gods, the hawk had fallen from its nest and never been recovered by its mother. Ocvran came upon it and cared for it, he never tried to be a master nor did he keep it locked away until it became reliant on his presence; forcing it to want to be with him. He gave the bird love and then freedom; it chose to return to him each and every day after it learnt to fly. Ocvran asked the hawk for its help when he scouted and it always chose to do so. There was a love between them that rivalled the connection between a man and his soul mate; there was a trust and an understanding that was unbreakable and needed no words to be known. In his words I could hear the respect he gave the animal, just as if he was speaking of our commander or one of our brothers in arms; to him the bird _was _his brother as well as a beloved companion. The hawk saved his life as many times as he saved its; remarkable really if you think about it." Anguysh finished, chuckling whilst he was lost in thought of bygone times.

"Why are you telling me this?" Tristan questioned, his impatience showing through.

"One day my son, it will all make sense." Anguysh answered with a wink.

Tristan sighed in annoyance at his father, stepping into the yurt and stripping off his damp shirt to replace it with a dry one.

Anguysh lowered himself onto his fur pile and watched his son fussing over his sword once redressed. Tristan reminded him of Ocvran in a way, the way he watched everything, the way he was so precise in all that he did. They shared the same determination, the same logical realism, and the same control at all times.

Well, most of the time in Tristan's case.

Anguysh often felt guilty when it came to his son. He could see the desire in Tristan's eyes to be like the other boys and do the things they took for granted. But it was not meant to be so, he was descended from a great line of Cataphract warriors, and due to their disgrace Tristan would face fifteen years in the hands of the Romans. Anguysh had been lucky to return alive to those he left behind but many had not, he had seen the grief families faced at the news that their sons and brothers would not come back to the steppes and live the life they deserved. He would not lose his son to the greed of the Empire, and on his vow Anguysh did his best to train Tristan to be unbeatable by his foes; and Tristan's accomplishment that morning proved what a champion he could one day be.

But time was running out, the Romans were merely leagues away and it was time the preparations Anguysh had been planning were put into action. Scratching the head of his old fawn coloured hunting dog, Anguysh broke the silence of the hut.

"The time is drawing closer Tristan; the Romans will be here soon from what I can gather."

Tristan cocked his head in his father's direction, waiting to see whether he would continue.

"And?" He probed when his father did not speak.

"They will take you and Dinadan with them."

The finality in his father's words made Tristan swallow hard. Tristan sighed.

The two sat in silence for a long while.

"I will return." He turned to face his father fully. "I _will_ come back."

Anguysh nodded, "I know."

"Does Dinadan know yet?"

"No, his father will tell him when he believes the time is right. He wishes for him to enjoy the free time he has left without his impending service looming over him."

Tristan's jaw clenched, Anguysh pretended not to notice. No doubt Tristan wished it was the same for him.

"I would ask that you watch over Dinadan. You may only be a year older than him Tristan but I fear his heart is too big and mouth too free to do him any good around the Romans. They will not take kindly to his openness and honesty."

"I will father." Tristan nodded once sharply in obedience.

"Good. Now, we must begin preparations for tomorrow but first I have a gift for you."

The curiosity in Tristan's golden eyes caused a grin to tug at Anguysh's mouth. He was like his mother in that respect, always happy to receive gifts and trinkets that were to her liking.

Tristan watched as his father pulled out a bundle from underneath his bedroll, the long and thin object unquestionable in his eyes. Tristan took the swaddled sword from his father and began to gently unwrap it. Anguysh narrating the story behind it as he did so;

"I received this sword upon my union with your mother as a part of her dowry and also as a symbol of acceptance by her people. They were never fond of outlanders as you well know my boy. I have carried it with me ever since that day, using it against those that threatened our family; if you're brother was still alive it would have been his no doubt, but I cannot help but feel you are the one meant to have it now." Anguysh paused momentarily, "Take it to Britain as a reminder of who you are, but more so, the strength and honour of your heritage."

The sword was nothing fancy in design; simple and lightweight it would be easy to wield in battle but strong enough to cause serious damage to his enemy. The long curved blade was not foreign to Tristan; he had seen the type of sword before even if he had never held one. They came from a land beyond the Huns, the home of his mother's people and where he had spent much of his younger years before his family had retreated to the safety of the Sarmatian territory from where his father had come.

That particular sword had been seen by Tristan several times during his lifetime but not once had he ever envisaged it being used by his own hand; pride blossomed within him but all he could manage to express his gratitude to his father was a short choked "Thank You."

"Use it wisely and with honour, take care of it and it will take care of you." His father replied, a large hand resting on Tristan's shoulder.

"Always." Tristan muttered, his fingers caressing the sharp tapered blade.

"I see you gave it to him then?" Both looked up to find the old woman Marin standing in the entrance to the hut.

She was small, bent over from age and balancing on weary legs that many expected to give out sooner rather than later. She was the oldest member of the tribe and the one all turned to when advice was needed, especially considering her powers of sight she had gained as the years mounted and her own eyesight began to fade.

Anguysh smiled gently, "Yes Old Mother, I did."

She nodded, "Good, it will do him well." A wicked gleam entered the Old Mother's blue eyes, "I also heard that Bogdan is most aggrieved and that it is you're doing Anguysh…"

Tristan shot a confused glance at his father, Anguysh chuckled lightly. "Now what could I have possibly done to upset Bogdan?"

"From the gossip spreading around the village like wild fire it has something to do with a horse. Or rather more accurately, that sprightly young colt Tristan admires so much and Bogdan declares to be rightfully his."

From the mention of the colt Tristan's attention turned fully on his father. Ever since the colt had been born and Tristan had been present at its birthing he often talked little of anything else, and seeing as that was nearly three years past it grew tiresome to hear. It wasn't the biggest horse in the herd nor the strongest or the best looking, but what appealed to Tristan so was the gleam in his eye, the fire and intelligence of a war horse. It had been offered for trade for nearly a year now, but its cocksure and fiery spirit left many unwilling to put in the time and effort needed to train him, and those who would were put off by its dappled dark grey colouring even with assurances by the owner that the colour would lighten significantly with maturity. Tristan's hopes had been dampened by the boasts of obnoxious Bogdan who wanted the animal purely to break its spirit and make himself look good; someone who stood in far better a position to achieve what he wanted.

"Yes well, if he wanted Bel Joer, he should have gotten in there with a fair price before I did." Was all Anguysh said on the matter.

"Bel Joer?" Tristan spoke up.

Anguysh frowned, "Yes. Isn't that what you called him? When you told me of that ghastly name Bogdan bragged he would give the colt you said it wasn't right, that the horse was Bel Joer."

An expression of delight crossed Tristan's face, a look he was surprised to find he had never seen on his son.

"He's truly mine?"

Anguysh grinned and nodded fervently, "Yes, I would not say so otherwise."

Just before Tristan could launch into a whoop of exultation, Marin interrupted with a loud cough. The father and son quickly remembered their guest.

"As much as I regret to cut short the celebrations, we have things that must be done and cannot wait." Marin hobbled toward Tristan and took his hand in her own gnarled one. Tristan quietened with uncertainty.

"Come Tristan, it is time you became a man."

Long into the night the preparations took place, and as dawn broke the next morning marking the day of Tristan's eighteenth year of life the boy he had been disappeared with the moon and the man he would become rose with the sun.

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Thank you for reading, DS :)


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